“By all means, tell me what you think I should do,” I said. “I’m as giddy as a schoolgirl to hear your thoughts.”

Jackson shook his head and pointed one beefy finger at me. “That attitude right there. You need to lose that shield of sarcasm.”

“It’s not a shield,” I said. “It’s who I am. It’s who I’ve always been. You just don’t appreciate my cutting wit.”

“Cutting?” he scoffed. “Cutting what exactly? Farts?” He smelled the air as if checking for a rogue funk.

I pressed my lips together, refusing to laugh. “I’m sorry, whose name is on your paycheck?” I asked. I didn’t care if I sounded like an asshole.

He should have been duly chastened; instead he laughed. It boomed against the walls of my home gym. I glowered. Why had I fired all of my previous trainers? Even Dougie, the wake-and-bake potato head with the weed problem, seemed preferable to Jackson right now. Maybe I should fire him.

Oblivious to my dark thoughts, Jackson tossed me a bottle of water just far enough out of reach that I had to lunge for it. Prick.

“Get up, Daire,” he barked. He always used my last name when he was about to torture me.

“No,” I said. “I don’t feel like it.”

“I’m sorry, who is the physical therapist in this room?” he asked.

I ignored him. His eyebrows went up and he crossed his arms over his chest while he waited. I stalled, taking a long drink of water.

“If you’re going to reach your goals, you have to stick to the workout, brother.” His gaze was steady on mine. I knew he wasn’t going to stop badgering me until I did as he asked.

“Don’t call me that,” I said, for the millionth time. “We’re not related.”

I put down the water and rose from the bench. I stood for a moment, checking my balance and getting a feel for the floor beneath my feet. I hated this. I’d never felt weak a day in my life until it all came crashing down nine months ago. I moved my weight from side to side. I felt off, which gave me a burst of panic, but I forcibly shook it off and decided to power through it.

“Let’s do some balance exercises,” Jackson ordered. We’d been doing these for a few months. I hadn’t seen that they’d made any difference, but I dutifully began to work through the yoga positions he’d taught me.

When I was warmed up, he gestured to the treadmill. I wanted to balk. I hated getting on that thing. It made me feel vulnerable, but since the docs hadn’t been able to pinpoint what precisely was wrong with me, there was really no reason not to give it a go.